We Are Flowers
by rib
Summary: Bits and pieces of K2. Repost. They're all sort of gross in various ways mostly because of my writing, uh.
1. Sugar

Sugar

Kyle beamed at his boyfriend as he let himself into the truck's passenger seat. "Hey, Ken. Thanks so much."

Kenny shrugged. "No problem at all, babe." Driving to Denver to see some new store that Kyle was dying to see was no problem at all. "You're kinda pale, there."

Kyle's smile dropped. "Where're your gloves, dude?" He'd completely dodged the statement. "It's pretty cold out today."

Kenny was hoping the Jew wouldn't notice. "I… left them at home." But he hadn't, really. They'd been torn beyond repair from his last death, which had been caused by an angry elk.

"Oh. You want me to get you a pair? I could just run back in."

Kenny shook his head. "I'd rather you warm me up instead, hot stuff."

Kyle blushed, but smirked. "I bet you tore the heater of this thing on purpose." But Kyle was just being cute. He knew there was no heater because Kenny's family was poor.

Kenny chuckled, leaning towards him. "Maybe." And Kenny was just playing along.

Kyle was warm. No, wait—Kyle was burning. Maybe it was the white hot passion that the blonde felt for the tiny redhead. Kenny felt a surge of heat burst right through his face, then throughout his body as soon as their lips touched. Then, their tongues met and Kenny was right about ready to roll over in the snow-but not really, because he didn't actually want to stop kissing Kyle. He had his hand—no longer freezing—in the smaller boy's fiery locks, pulling him closer. Kenny was sucking on his tongue so hard that Kyle was squealing under his breath. Then Kenny noticed something.

"You taste like chocolate," he mumbled into the kiss before pulling away, frowning. But he didn't say it like, "you taste like chocolate, oh my god, I want to eat you and sex you up right here and now."

Kyle licked his lips, keeping his face close to Kenny's, in case the statement was just a statement and the make-out session would resume shortly. "Hm? Yeah, I do."

"When were you eating chocolate?"

"It was part of my breakfast—"

"Where's your glucometer?"

Kyle pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to him. "Why?"

"D'you test youself after you ate?"

"Yeah. I always—"

Kenny checked the history. "One-fifty-six," read out loud, "Okay, good." He handed it back to the redhead.

Kyle stared at him for a while, then giggled. "They were sugar-free chocolate muffins, Ken. Mom made them for me."

Kenny laughed as well. "Great. That's… great. You scared me for a second there."

Kyle gave a smile, a softness in his eyes. "Thanks for worrying, Kenny. But you know how strict I am about what I eat. Give my self-control some credit."

Kenny laughed again. "Your self-control? Because you weren't just trying to eat my face a few seconds ago."

"That's different," Kyle lectured, "You're addictive."

"Does that mean we can make-out again now?"

"Yes. Yes, it does."


	2. Fun Fact

Fun Fact

"You're sexually repressed."

Kyle looked up at his boyfriend, only slightly surprised. "Really," he replied dryly before returning to his book. Said book was on the table, which was vibrating due to the fact that Kyle's leg was shaking against the floor.

"Yeah," Kenny assured. "That thing you do."

"What thing?"

"That thing. With your foot."

The tremors stopped. "Really," Kyle said again.

"Yeah. Honest to… uh, Moses."

Kyle stared at him. "I'm not sexually repressed."

"I mean, yeah, you shouldn't be."

"Why not?"

It was Kenny's turn to stare. "In any case, we should un-repress you," he sighed, as if it was such a chore. He sat up on the bed.

Kyle rolled his eyes. "You might as well have said 'I'm horny.'"

"Kenny McCormick's boyfriend has no business being sexually repressed. Kenny's a sex god."

Kyle had to laugh, right there. He wasn't laughing for too long though, 'cause then Kenny picked him up (easy) and pinned him to the bed (not as easy.)

"I'm just watching out for you, babe," he mumbled into the kiss.

"Sure, Kenny." 'Cause despite the irrelevance to the situation, he knew it was true.


	3. I Have Astronaut Food

I Have Astronaut Food

"Hey Stan."

"Hey."

"D'you bring your book?"

"…"

"Stan?"

"What? Oh, yeah. No, sorry. I left it at home."

"It's fine, c'mon."

"…What's Kenny doing in the corner?"

"He's on a time-out."

"Oh. Looks like he's jacking off."

"Yeah. Probably."

"…What?"

"Why do you think he's on a time out?"

"Oh."

"Yeah. Now get to studying. We're got a test on Thursday."

"Right, right."


	4. Soup

Soup

Kyle entered his room with a bowl of chicken and noodle soup. He was trying not to look harried-which he was—despite having learned the recipe that morning. No Kenny of his would be having the artificial stuff.

Said blonde sat on the bed, looking much worse than his redheaded boyfriend. He'd yesterday managed to break four ribs and lose his left eye, left forearm, right arm, right foot, and left leg. He'd been patched up well enough. He grinned at Kyle, the carefree I-might-limbless-but-I'm-happy way he did. It could only be brought about by Jew. "Wow. Chicken noodle soup from scratch."

Kyle grinned back, taking a seat where Kenny's left knee would have been. He took a spoonful and blew on it. "Try not to barf it back up, please," he said, raising it to Kenny's lips.

Kenny swallowed, eyes widening. "Oh."

"Sorry," Kyle got up, "I'll make another batch."

Kenny's would've grabbed his hand if he had any of his own. "Ky, it tastes great."

"Really?" Kyle bit his lip.

Oh, if Kenny could jump. "Promise. Sit back down."

Kyle did so, staring at the bowl. "You sure?"

"Yes. Now shovel more of that hot love down my throat."

Kyle stared at him. And laughed out loud.

"Besides, if it kills me, maybe I'd come back with my arms and legs."

Kyle kissed his forehead gently, still giggling. "I'd run out of an excuse to smother you."

"Babe, smother me all you want, limbs or not," Kenny laughed. Because it was perfectly reasonable to _want_ to be an amputee when your boyfriend was Kyle Broflovski.


	5. Boing

Boing

"You aren't wearing your hat."

"No."

"Huh. Your hair looks nice."

"Thanks."

"What did you do to it?"

"I put mousse in it."

Absently smiling, Kenny reached for a lock and tugged it softly. It bounced back to its earlier place. He did it four more times before Kyle swatted his hand away.

"Stop that," he turned to get his books from his locker.

Kenny didn't stop. He reached for another corkscrew and did as he did before. "Stiff," he was muttering, "stiff stiff stiffy stiff. Stiff. Why is it stiff?"

"I put mousse in it," Kyle said again, offering no further explanation.

"Okay."

Kyle began to make his way to the classroom, and Kenny maintained a two-inch distance, still playing with his hair. Kyle sighed, irritated.

"Ken, that's fucking annoying."

"Sorry." He separated a pair of curls that had interlocked. And tugged them both.

They both took their seats, Kenny leaning all across his. He was just holding his finger out into the hair now, wondering if maybe a lock would wrap itself around it.

"Hey, guys," Stan took a seat behind Kyle. "Nice hair, man."

Kyle was brooding, so only Kenny greeted back with a, "It's stiff."

"It's kinda late in the morning to be getting a boner, Ken—"

"I meant his hair," Kenny said dreamily.

Stan paused. "It's kinda early in the day to be getting a boner, Ken."

Kenny reached over with his other hand and threw a pathetic punch to Stan's arm. He locked back at the red shrub ad realized a lock _had_ wrapped itself around his finger. And it was steadily tightening. He tugged, and it wouldn't get off. "Holy shit."

"That's pretty fucked up right there, dude," Stan said absently.

"Kyle?" Kenny looked to his boyfriend for _something_.

"It was fucking annoying," Kyle said simply.

His finger's circulation was being cut off. Kenny tugged again, panicking a bit more now. He couldn't just pull it out, because the thing might rip off. Or his finger would.

"Kenny McCormick, what the fuck are you doing?" UnnamedTeacher asked, standing akimbo right in front of the blonde.

"I…uh…it's eating my finger."

Unnamed didn't know how to respond to this. "Well, stop it. It's disrupting the class."

"I can't."

And they stared at each other for a while.

"Kyle, stop your freaky hair eating Kenny's finger so I can get on with my dumbass job."

"Fine," Kyle sighed. The lock released Kenny's finger shaking angrily for a second afterwards.

Kenny quickly with drew his hand, put it on his lap alongside the other one and dared not to look upon Kyle's air for the rest of the day.


	6. LQ

LQ

Stan found it funny when Kenny and Kyle fought. You could tell they were trying _really_ hard to stay mad.

"You know, you should just put a condom on your head, Ken, since you're being such a huge dick. And we wouldn't hear you talk."

That's probably why he chose to invite them to sleep over that particular night.

"At least I have one."

"I hope some bitch bites your dick off."

And this was just the beginning.

"Thanks for the offer, Kyle, but tell your mom no thanks."

And even funnier, Kyle was lying on Kenny's lap.

"Assface."

"Phallic-worshipper."

"Cowshit."

"Catcum."

And even funnier, they were cuddling.

"Pussywasher."

"Assfolder."

Their insults weren't making much sense anymore.

"Mush hugger."

"Whale trooper."

"Oar chucker."

"Load shipper."

"I love you," Stan whispered from behind the couch.

Kenny paused. Kyle paused.

"Stan's such a wuss."

"Stan's such an asshole."

"I hope he dies in a fire."

"Yeah."

"What were we fighting about?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, cool." So they kissed.

Stan regretted inviting them over. And he vowed to never share a bed with the two after a not-really-huge-but-still-worth-make-up-sex fight.


	7. Orange

Orange

"Holy shit, what the fuck, dude?"

Kenny didn't look guilty at all. He just stood there, empty pitcher in hand, staring at Kyle's body. Like he always did.

"Kenny, why did you do that?"

"Iunno."

"What do you mean—"

"Look, it shows."

Kyle blinked, and looked down at his shirt, where a shade of orange slightly darker than that of his jacket was spread through his chest. "Yeah. You doused me with orange juice. _Cold_ orange juice."

"Sorry," Kenny looked genuinely disappointed.

"What?"

"It shows."

"Yeah."

Kenny sighed, rolling his eyes and taking Kyle's hand. "Let's go clean you up."

Kyle followed him out of the kitchen and up the stairs. "You know, there are less violent ways to get me naked."

"I know. I've used all of them, though," his tone was still sad.

Kyle pulled his hand away and ran back down the stairs with a quick, "hold on."

He returned with another pitcher of orange juice. He flung the contents of the pitcher at Kenny with both hands. "Look, it doesn't show."

Kenny looked down, his slightly-surprised expression melting into one of pure joy. "Yay."

This time, Kyle took his hand. "Let's go clean you up."

Kissing his nose, Kenny laughed. "You know, there are less violent ways to get me naked."

"Kenny, I don't have to do _anything_ to get you naked."

Then they both laughed 'cause it was true.


	8. Jar

Jar

Stan frowned at Kyle's hand. Not at Kyle; just his hand. It was in a neat tourniquet, probably wrapped by Kyle himself. "What's that?" Stan asked.

Kyle shrugged, occupied with reviewing his notes for a test they would have that afternoon. "I was at Kenny's yesterday."

Stan switched from concerned-Super-Best-Friend to over-protective-Super-Best-Friend-whose-Super-best-is-dating-a-best. "What'd Kenny do?" It was slightly menacing.

Kyle glanced up at his Super Best, a bored expression on his face. "_Nothing_, Stan," he said, though there was a slight tinge on his cheeks.

"Ohh," Stan rolled his eyes. He then noticed Kenny jogging up to them.

He took Kyle hand and kissed it a few times before moving to Kyle's cheek instead. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

"So, really," Stan began before the good-morning-make-out could, "what happened?"

Kenny grinned sheepishly, scratching his chin. "See, we were in the kitchen yesterday, and I was frisky—"

"You're always—"

"So…yeah. I had Kyle pinned to the counter, and he was just pushing things around on it," Kenny continued, "He reached up and tipped over this empty pickle jar in the cupboard. It broke all over the counter, and in his surprise, Kyle instinctually—"

"Instinctively," Kyle corrected gently.

"Instinctively, right," Kenny said quickly,"He slammed his hand down where are the shards were. Then he cried for a while and we ran to the drugstore with him bleeding all over the place. The lady there gave us everything for free 'cause he was still bawling his cute little face off."

Kyle was pouting slightly at the explanation. "No, actually," he paused dramatically, "Kenny got so angry at me for breaking it, he made me run my hand under boiling water. Because you know, Stan, he's such an abusive bastard."

Both Kenny and Stan began saying, "You can't blame—" before looking at each other.

Kenny went ahead, "I can't blame him, Kyle. If you guys were dating (everyone then made a face,) I'd be on his case all day too."

"That's right," Stan agreed, "Since you're our precious ginger Jew nerd."

Kyle punched him on the shoulder and Kenny's as well for laughing.


	9. Socks

Socks

The Denver Sock Emporium had two floors filled with gloves, shoelaces, stockings, leggings and (of course) a shitload of socks. Kenny swore Kyle pitched a tent when he entered the shop. Kenny soon realized that Kyle was no longer next to him and that sent him to ten minutes looking for the redhead. Appallingly, it was quite difficult to find him through the various designs and styles of socks. Socks. Socks.

Kyle found him instead, a basketful of stuff, and immediately dragged him to the fitting room (_they had a fitting room?) _He deposited Kenny on a bench outside the stall he entered. After a few seconds, Kyle piped up. "Kenny, come in for a second."

Kenny found the door unlocked. Kyle stood in front of the floor-length mirror in only his shirt, his boxers and a pair of yellow knee-high socks with green elephants on them. "…Why aren't you wearing pants?"

"I can't see them properly," Kyle explained simply, with a _very_ serious look on his face. He turned around, lifting the over-sized shirt slightly. "What do you think?"

Kenny was _so_ sure he was doing this thing on purpose. It added up; the adorable socks, the adorable boxers (which had little stars of David on them,) the shirt that was actually Kenny's and that _look on his face that actually meant he was serious but not really since he was pouting._ Kenny's brain burned out for a while and restarted. Then, out of pure male technicality, he said, "It looks fine," and was horrified he had done so.

Kyle sat down, sighing, and began to strip off the socks. "Okay," he began putting on another pair.

Then, the penis chemicals made their way to Kenny's brain (the other kind, I mean.) "How many are you planning to buy, anyway?" _Ohshitohshitohshit. He's glaring at me._

He stood up and spun slowly. These ones matched his boxers; dark green with scattered lime-green stars. "Well?"

And Kenny shrugged. He shrugged when what he'd meant to say was, "You should buy all of these and wear them all the time without pants on."

He could tell Kyle was getting pissed. "Do you want to leave, Ken?"

And he knew the answer was no, but, "Kinda."

And huffily, Kyle pushed him outside. "I'll meet you at the truck in about fifteen minutes. Go…check if they've got Playboy next door or something."

Kenny sulked to himself as he spent the next _forty_ minutes waiting around outside the fitting room. Kyle came in and out six more times. In the end, he bought nine pairs of socks. Including the ones he'd shown Kenny.

Kenny had been glancing nervously at Kyle during the entire drive back home. He had no reason to be nervous—the redhead had stopped being pissed after he got a 20 percent discount.

As he slowed to a stop in front of Kyle's house, Kenny took a deep breath. "I didn't mean what I said at the sock place. You looked so cute in everything, but my dick was in my head—I just realized that sounds sick, but whatever," he gushed.

Kyle blinked at him. And broke into a laugh. "I'm the cute one?"

Kenny leaned over to kiss him. "Definitely. You were teasing me, dude. You're fucking sexy in those socks."

Kyle chuckled. "You've got a sock fetish now?"

"Yeah. Just like I've got a green ushanka fetish, redhead fetish and Jew fetish. You put on suspenders and I'll be a suspenders fetishist. You put on a suit and I'll be a suit fetishist. You put on a chicken suit and I'll-"

"I get it, I get it," Kyle laughed. He smiled silently for a second. "I love you, Ken."

Kenny leaned in for another kiss. "Get inside before your glorious ass freezes," he whispered, "I still wanna see you in _all_ those socks."

"Yessir," Kyle saluted as he exited the car.

"Oh, and Kyle?"

"Hm?"

"I love you more."

Kyle laughed again, and Kenny might've heard him say, "Impossible."


	10. Good Morning, Starshine!

Good Morning, Starshine!

Pebbles were being thrown at Kyle's window. The disgruntled redhead sat up, stretching. He felt around for his hat, eyes barely open. He pulled on the ushunka and pulled himself to his windowsill, peering outside. He was only slightly upset he'd been—

"Kenny, it's too fucking early—"

"Kyle! Hey, Kyle! Hey!" The blonde waved up at him, a baseball bat on resting on his shoulder.

They yelled at each other for a while before Kyle realized his window was still closed. He pushed it open. "Kenny, what?"

The exuberant boy proudly presented about a dozen bananas on a crate. They'd probably come from the gift truck Cartman had given him for his birthday. Prouder still, he raised the bat over his head and brought it down on the fruit. Again. And again. Thus sending mush all over.

Kyle stared down at him. "…Right."

Kenny grinned up at him, disregarding the bits of banana on his face. "You going to Stan's later?"

Kyle nodded.

"I'll see you there," he called, blowing him a kiss.

Kyle felt his hand go up to hold his head. "Yeah, Kenny," he muttered, slamming the window shut. Sighing, he pulled the blanket back up over his head and flumped back down to sleep.


	11. Cutie Patootie

Cutie Patootie

I don't know why, but coming back from hell is really fucking tiring. And, since I have no control whatsoever over where I re-materialize, it's really frustrating to end up somewhere I don't want to, like in the school bathroom (especially when Damien and Pip are there,) or Craig's closet (especially when Tweek's over,) or Token's living room (especially when Clyde's over.) So when I arrived and found myself in Kyle's room, I was so relieved that I just flopped backwards. I know his room by heart and I knew the bed was behind me. I really just wanted to sleep and I figured Kyle would understand. But there was a weird lump near my neck, and it was too annoying to ignore. So I pulled it out with every intention of throwing it aside. But I stopped.

It was a toy; a predominantly orange stuffed toy.

Just then, my beloved boyfriend opened the door and strolled in to find me lying on his bed with a doll of _me_ in hand. "Kenny? When'd you get—what are you doing with that?"

"Just now," I replied absently, studying the doll. "Where'd you get this?"

He stomped over and snatched it from my grasp. I could only imagine him getting redder and redder from embarrassment. Still, I sat up to see the real thing, because ImaginationKyle is nowhere as cute as RealKyle. He was hugging it to his chest. "It's nothing, Kenny."

"No, seriously, dude," I said, slightly amused, "Where'd you get it?"

Just then, our best friend opened the door and strolled in, a can of Coke in hand. "Oh, hey Kenny." He paused to assess the situation for a second. "You found his doll, right?" He gave a chuckle.

Kyle hissed at Stan to shut up. I meanwhile took his free hand and tugged him down next to me. I retrieved the doll in the process. "I'm so cute," I said, holding it up like baby. And really, I am.

Kyle was trying to get it back, so I held it up out of his reach. "Kenny! Weak, dude. Give it back."

"Or what?"

"Or withheld fucking bedroom privileges for a week, asshole!"

Naturally, I gave it back. He smoothed it out and stuffed it behind his pillows. Stan was watching, amused, so I flipped him off.

"You know, he sleeps with it every time you die," the damn hippie added.

Kyle pulled a pillow closer to fling at his head. "Shut up, Marsh."

I was so happy at the fact that Kyle missed me that much when I died that I threw my arms around the adorable redhead and soon found his lips with mine. I could hear Stan fake-gagging in the background, but mostly I just heard the cute noises Kyle made when I kissed him sometimes. I pulled away, grinning. "You really miss me when I'm gone, huh?"

Kyle pouted, still flushed, glaring up at me. He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you idiot. I do."

'Well, I'm kinda jealous, Kyle."

He stared up at me, confused.

"I'll bet that doll sees some things _I_ don't get to see."

Kyle scoffed, though his blush darkened a bit more. "Nah; just me sleeping, and getting dressed right after a shower-"

"And jacking off, moaning my name because I'm dead and masturbating in front of the doll feels _so dirty."_

Kyle deadpanned me, and I'll admit; it was pretty scary. "Kenneth." From the desk, Stan gave a disinterested "ew," and returned to his internet browsing. Probably looking for porn of Kyle and me, the bastard.

I kissed him lightly on the lips, hoping my winning charm would compensate for my conscious lack of tact. "So I'm thinking… I should get a matching Kyle doll."


	12. Rubber Duckies Got Nothing on You

Rubber Duckies Got Nothing on You

I love taking baths with Kyle. It isn't even the fact that he's sudsy and slippery and naked right next to me. Well, okay, that too. But really, we don't have sex in the shower as much as you'd think. The second time we did, I slipped on the soap and died from a hemorrhage, and I hate putting Kyle in a position where he has to clean up my corpse, which is really just a pain in the ass. But that's a bit off-topic. Fact is, Kyle's a clean person. He likes keeping things clean, which could be really ironic since he's so dirty in bed. Look, don't blame me for having to mention these kinds of things, 'cause I can't help it. I mean, you see Kyle and you realize that he's the most important thing in the world to you, and you realize that you're kinda important to him too; you get distracted.

Well shit, my train of thought just went AWOL. Hold on. Right. Bath time.

According to Kyle, I don't know how to clean myself. And I guess I wouldn't, since the plumbing at home is crap. So whenever I come over, Kyle finds a way to get me to take a bath. It isn't much of a fight, since I get Kyle naked and a bath at the same time. So the first time he brought it up, I was about to get out of the shower, and he goes, what, you aren't gonna wash your hair?

And I realized it just slipped my mind because I was staring at him the whole time. So, I took a bottle of shampoo, and just muss it into my hair for a few seconds, and rinsed it off. That's when he made me sit down on the little stool in their bathroom, knelt down behind me, took more shampoo and started lathering, actually _lathering_ it into my hair. He spread and scrubbed and massaged it through my scalp, humming some song that I might've heard on the radio. And here it is; Kyle washing my hair is another one of the most unexpectedly erotic things he could do. And he does a lot of those. The feeling of his fingertips rubbing my sore head, and pressing circles into my temples makes me shoot up like fireworks.

And I end up moaning, and he laughs at me, 'cause he thinks it's cute or something.

So one night, it's bath time again and I get Kyle to sit on my lap on the stool. He tells me I'm a hornball and I tell him yeah, but I'm the hornball you're in love with. I get his shampoo, which smells like strawberries. Apparently, he didn't even know it smelled like strawberries until I told him, because I totally just sniff him whenever he's nearby. I had to beg him not to change it because it makes him smell fucking delicious. You can't smell it on me, though, and Kyle loves that. I don't know why he loves the way I smell; I reek.

Anyway, I pour some on my hand and start doing what he usually does to me. I feel the tension leave his shoulders, and his head lolls to the side a bit as he groans. I massage his temples and he actually moans my name, and I have to stop myself just kissing him right there. I rinse the bubbles off my hands and start rubbing his earlobes, 'cause I know he loves when I do that. I move lower, to the back of his neck and press it with my thumbs. He nearly slips off my lap, but I get my arms around his waist before he does. He laughs a bit and takes the shower head to rinse us off.

Later, we're getting ready for bed, since I was sleeping over; Kyle comes up to me and thanks me like it's a huge deal. I guess it is, because anytime Kyle is happy like he was, I'm fine with whatever shit happens to me. His hug and his smile and his laugh made it so I wasn't completely pissed off when a giant mutant frog ate me.


	13. Goo

Goo

Kenny's eye tickled, He rubbed it tiredly; it was probably all this studying Kyle was making him do. The formulas he'd been pretending to read were blurring in and out of focus. He rubbed his eye harder.

"Sleepy, Ken?" Kyle asked from the desk, where he was typing something down on his laptop.

"Nnhn." Kenny paused as something wet fell from his eye and onto his book. It was some kind of greenish-white mucus. He looked at his finger, which was apparently covered in the _goo. _"Ew," he muttered, wiping his hand on Kyle's sheets.

His eye still tickled.

Another drop fell on the page. And another. And another. Kenny sat up and quickly pressed his eye. Whatever was tickling his eye was _moving_ inside his skull. It was squirming around his eye socket and seemed to be nuzzling his eyeball. It was pushing at his eye, and he could feel the sinews snapping. His other eye was tearing up as he bit his lip to keep from crying out. He could feel the _thing_ in his head slipping under his eye, making its way to the open air. He yelped loudly as something as squishy and maggot-like clung to his hand.

Kyle spun with a start. "Ke—oh my fucking—Kenny, what the hell is that?"

Kenny shook his hand frantically in an attempt to throw the maggot off of him. Similar little creepers continued to squeeze themselves out of Kenny's head via eye, slipping out from around his bleeding eye. Blood and mucus continued to trickle down Kenny's face.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—"

Kyle broke Kenny's mantra as he pulled the blonde along to the shower, grabbing a towel on his way in. He pulled Kenny down to kneel in front of the toilet, forcing his head above the porcelain bowl. Breathing hard, Kenny started plucking the worms from his eyes and immediately flicking them into the bowl.

Kyle left for a second to get the first aid and put on a glove. With a slight 'urk' and a disgusted face, he helped Kenny remove the maggots.

By the time they were finished, the toilet was half full with pale green worms swimming in brownish-water. Kyle washed out the mucus in Kenny's eye socket and dried his face as he inspected it.

"Your eye looks crapped-up. And it's already falling off," Dr. Kyle concluded after some thought.

Kenny groaned, rolling his head against Kyle's cupped hand. "Damn it."

Kyle flushed the toilet, scowling at the nasty little fuckers as they spiraled into the sewer. He closed the seat and helped Kenny onto it. He ran out again, returning with a pair of his mother's fabric scissors. He took hold of Kenny's hanging eyeball and savagely snipped it off. Both boys cringed, spines shuddering. Kyle dumped the eye in the sink, where it settled on the drain and stared up at them.

Kenny held out the tape to be cut. He held the gauze he'd already folded over his eye as Kyle taped it into place. Afterwards, Kenny cleaned up the first aid kit while Kyle got ready for bed. He put his eyeball in his pocket, in case he needed it later.


	14. Paper Bag

Paper Bag

The rough denim of Kenny's jeans blisters his hipbones as he rushes through the hallway. He shoves his shaking fists under his parka and his fingers fit right into the ridges that his exposed ribs create. He massages them gently as, for nearly a second, he regrets giving Karen the two and a half dollars he'd nicked from his parents' booze-bank the night prior. He kicks his lock-less locker open. There is no way in hell he will let his baby sister hear shit about not being able to afford lunch, the way Kenny did (and occasionally still does.)

Kenny's locker is near-empty. The contents include an old curtain rod, a toothless comb, his Bio textbook, and a paper bag. Kenny chews on his bottom lip, as he usually does when he remembers how many days' worth of meals he's missed. The paper bag is out of place in the dingy compartment. It is sitting neatly right in the center of the metal divider, being held closed by puffy sticker in the shape of a purple pig. Kenny peeks out from behind the locker door, expecting someone to jump up and accuse him of stealing it.

He picks the bag up with only his thumb and middle finger and carefully peels away the sticker, so as not to tear the paper. He unfolds the top to peer inside. A pair of sandwiches, sliced into triangles, sits at the bottom of the bag, wrapped neatly in kitchen napkins. Sweet-and-sharp-and-nuttily scented, Kenny decides that they are of the peanut butter-and-jelly variant. He quickly folds the bag closed and replaces the little piggy to seal it. He swings his backpack under his arm to grab it, open it, and put the paper bag inside, right on top of his two notebooks. He tugs at the jammed zipper, swings the bag behind him, and stalks off to class.

Kenny takes a seat next to Craig, immediately poking his blue-clad friend's cheek.

"What?"

"D'you put that there?" His accent is muffled by his hood.

"No," Craig replies immediately, having no idea what Kenny is on about.

"Oh." Kenny is intrigued. He rests his chin on the back of his palm, yawning softly. "I bet it was some girl." He flushes slightly, embarrassed. She's probably seen him at lunch, picking at Stan's leftovers. She probably pities him. "God damn it."

"Maybe it was Kyle," Craig mutters, still unaware of what Kenny is referring to. All he knows is that if he mentions Kyle, his friend will shut up.

As expected, Kenny falls off of his arm and tries to retreat deeper into his jacket, groping to find the pull strings. His ears become warm as he imagines the situation. "Nah. I mean, I bet not. No."

"You never know," Craig insists.

Kenny tightens his hood around his face, licking his teeth. "No chance, dude."

Kenny follows behind Stan as they enter the cafeteria. He spots Kyle and Cartman across the large hall. He tightens his hold on the paper bag as he follows Kyle's cries of "racist shit," and "lardass." He sits on Cartman's side of the table, setting the bag between his legs. He nestles his head between his arms as the argument dies down. A rumbling from his hollow stomach keeps him from taking a nap.

He realizes Kyle's eyes are on him. They scan him for a second, and Kenny can feel the heat rising in around his neck. Kenny smiles up at the redhead, willing the tint not to reach his face. "Dude, I know I'm hot, but come on—we're in public," he laughs shakily.

Kyle blushes furiously. "You're a dumbass, Kenny," he turns back to the lunch he's bought, ignoring Cartman's "fucking homo, Kinneh," comment. "Go eat your damn lunch."

Kenny blinks, sits up, reaches down, and grabs a sandwich from the bag. Observing Kyle quietly, he peels away the paper towel and nibbles at the golden-brown crust. The feeling of actual food (e.g. not stale chips or gum) sliding down his throat makes Kenny chuckle softly. Kyle is watching him again. He takes a bite, and some on the filling oozes out onto his finger. His tongue darts out to catch the blob before it can start running.

"Hey, Kyle?" Kenny asks. His gaze is on the sandwich, so as not to feel too embarrassed.

"What's up?"

"Pass this on to your mom, would you?" He places the sandwich on the table to stand, leans over, and presses his lips on Kyle's cheek. "She makes the best PB & J."

As Stan begins mouthing off about how Kyle is going to contract something, Cartman howls "FAG ALERT" loud enough for a few tables to hear. Kenny sits back down and smiles at Kyle, (whose ears have begun to match his hair,) relieved that he did not get smacked in return for the kiss.

(He is only thankful until he realizes that he's lost the bet and now owes Craig ten bucks, the smug asshat.)


	15. Domestic?

Domestic?

"Hey Kenny."

"Yeah, Stan?"

"So…you and Kyle, right?"

"What about us?"

Stan picked the lint of his jacket for a few more seconds.

"Stan?"

"How do you know you love him?"

Kenny stared at him. "I just do."

Stan frowned. "Yeah, but _how do you know?_"

"You aren't going to burst into song, are you?"

"Do you feel all fluffy inside or do you get that butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of thing—"

"Stan—"

"—or do you melt, or something faggy like that?"

"Stan."

Stan gave an expectant look.

"Sometimes."

Stan stared, an analytic look on his face. "You love him _sometimes?_"

"No, I love him all the time. But I'm faggy for him _sometimes." _Sighing, he went back to doing the bills. Usually, Kyle would do it. But Kyle was going for a drive.

Stan was silent for a while. "You love him even when you're fighting?"

Kenny turned, slightly surprised. "You heard us this morning?"

"I kinda live here."

Kenny shook his head. "I do love him, Stan," he said slowly, like he would to a child. "Even when he's being a whiny, naggy douche-y bitch. Even when we're screaming our heads off at each other."

Stan was staring again.

Kenny sighed. "I'd die for him, all the time. I'd protect him no matter what, _all the time_. I don't have to be head-over-heels infatuated all the time. I love Kyle, Stan. I really do."

Stan nodded. "Okay."

"Were you scared?"

"No," Stan forced a set face. "Yes."

"I guess the town would go to shit again if we broke up."

Stan nodded.

"It wouldn't be your fault though, okay?"

Stan nodded. "Thanks, _Dad_. So glad you and _Mom_ aren't getting a divorce."

"That's my boy," Kenny laughed, mussing up Stan's hair. He sat back. "So if I said I was moving out later today because Kyle and I just can't be around each other right now, what would you do?"

"Kill myself," Stan replied immediately.

"Aw, fuck. And to think my son; _my_ son is a little emo-slut."

"It's just 'cause you never hugged me, Daddy. All you ever did was stuff vegetables up my ass."

"Don't call me that," Kenny said joke-darkly, "I have no son."

Kyle strolled in to be half-tackled by Stan. "Mom! Dad's being a dick again."

"Don't believe a word he says, honey. It was the mailman!"


End file.
